A Christmas Classic
by Glory1863
Summary: The film of a popular seasonal ballet and too much party punch lead Trip to dream of a dark haired, light eyed doll who comes to life and dances. Light Tucker Reed slash.
1. Chapter 1

A bit of Christmas fluff that comes from listening to _The Nutcracker Suite_ in the car for 3 hours. Mildly Tucker/Reed slash, but Santa won't leave them coal for anything they're doing.

A Christmas Classic

Ever since Captain Archer had told him he could move Movie Night to coincide with the ship's Christmas Eve party, Trip Tucker had been trying to come up with a suitable film. His first thought had been _A Christmas Carol_. There were so many versions to choose from - anything from Alastair Sim to George C. Scott to Patrick Stewart - but then he remembered what his lover, Malcolm Reed, had told him about his memories of Christmas and had decided that the story of the miserly, hard-hearted Ebenezer Scrooge might hit a little too close to home for Mal, whose father, Stuart, didn't believe in celebrating such frivolous things as Christmas.

He'd shown _It's A Wonderful Life_ last year without realizing, much too his shame, how much Mal had felt like the film's main character, George Bailey. He'd missed the party while tracking Mal down and acting like Clarence, his guardian angel, as Mal finally opened up about how inadequate he often felt, both personally and professionally. He didn't want to go through that again, and he sure as hell didn't want to put Mal through it again either.

After quite a bit of thought, though, Trip had narrowed his choices down to Tim Burton's _The Nightmare Before Christmas _with its unusual animation techniques; _How the Grinch Stole Christmas, _another animated film where the great horror movie actor Boris Karloff was the narrator and also provided the voice for the Grinch; _Scrooged_ with Bill Murray which was simply another version of _A Christmas Carol_, but this one was funny; _The Santa Clause_ with Tim Allen; and the old standby _Miracle on 34th Street_.

He'd floated some trial balloons in the mess hall at lunch which, he realized now, had been a tactical error. Of course, if the ship's weapons and tactical officer had been there to offer a little support instead of messing around with the starboard phase cannon again, perhaps things wouldn't have gone south in such a big way, but then Mal **had** warned him that he might be unavoidably detained. When it came right down to it, he should have just picked one and been done with it; but no, he had to ask Hoshi's opinion, and Hoshi wanted something else entirely.

"For crying out loud, Hoshi, that's a ballet! Can't you just pick a film from the list?" Trip whined a bit louder than was advisable.

"I'm aware of that, Trip, but I wouldn't have minded finding Mikhail Baryshnikov under my tree. He was so cute!" Hoshi replied with a naughty smile.

"Travis, you gonna put up with this, or what?" Trip's whining had gone up a few decibels.

"Commander, have you ever heard the phrase 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'? I'd just go with the flow if I were you." Travis and Hoshi were a couple, and Travis was no fool.

"Is there a problem, Commander?" The Andorian First Officer, Shran, had not needed his ultrasensitive antennae to hear the commotion.

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir, not exactly," Trip stumbled all over himself.

"What exactly **do** you mean, Commander?" Shran asked quietly with more patience than most people would have credited him with having.

Oh, great, Trip thought. Now the command structure is involved. "I was just taking a little unscientific poll on what movie the crew would like on Christmas Eve. Hoshi wants some ballet by some guy named Tchaikovsky, starring some guy named Baryshnikov, because she thinks he's cute, and it ain't even on the list!"

"Indeed," Shran replied evenly. "I believe I know the one you mean, Hoshi. The music is lovely, but I've never seen the ballet performed. I vote for that one too, Commander. Are we done here?" Shran's tone of voice indicated quite clearly the answer he expected.

Trip heaved a sigh. "Yes, sir, we're done." But that wasn't the end of it, not by a long shot. Word of Hoshi's choice spread through the ship like wildfire. Wonder how that happened? Trip thought cynically. When he returned to his quarters at the end of his duty shift and checked his messages on the data terminal, he found he had mail. Boy, did he ever - and it all wanted the same thing!

Trip and Malcolm were sitting together in bed reading. Trip looked up from his PADD and said, "I could have used your help at lunch, Mal."

"I'm sorry I was unavailable, but I did advise you . . ."

"I know ya did, Mal. It's OK." Trip sighed. When it came to this particular Movie Night, sighing in frustration was becoming a habit. "It's just that now I'm stuck showing this stupid ballet for Movie Night, and if you'd been there, maybe you could have talked Hoshi out of it. She listens to you."

"When it suits," Malcolm chuckled. "But I'm afraid I really wouldn't have been much assistance, Trip. As it happens, I'd like to see it, too."

"You what?!" Trip dropped the PADD and stared at Malcolm in disbelief. "There's explosions in a ballet?"

Malcolm was laughing now. "No, but there is a battle scene of sorts." Malcolm suddenly sobered. "Listen, Trip, I got to see this ballet performed at the Royal Albert Hall when I was a child. It's one of the few happy memories of Christmas I have. I really would like to see it again."

Trip saw the uncertainty in Malcolm's expressive blue-gray eyes. "OK, Mal. If I'd known . . . " Trip put his arm around Malcolm and gave him a hug. "You've been holdin' out on me, darlin'. Tell me about this happy Christmas memory."

Malcolm's eyes took on a faraway look. "I shouldn't think that I was more than 10. Father got tickets. I don't know how or why, but through the navy, I suppose. It was all very formal. The men were in evening dress or dress uniforms and the women in long evening gowns and a tremendous amount of jewelry. It was as if they were all wearing stars."

"You must have looked pretty cute in a miniature tux." Trip smiled at the thought.

"Cadet uniform, actually. I was sent down to London by rail the afternoon of the performance and returned to boarding school the same way as soon as it was over."

"Jeez, Mal, I thought you said this was a **happy** memory." Trip was appalled, but not surprised, given what he knew of Malcolm's family, that he had been so easily discarded by his parents and moved about like so much baggage.

"It is, Trip. Be patient, please. It was apparently a command performance, because the Royal Family was there, including the Princess of Wales."

"That would be Diana, the current queen?" Trip asked.

"Yes. She was perhaps 15 then and as beautiful as her great-great-grandmother for whom she was named." Trip could see Malcolm's slight blush and thought that it made him look even more attractive. "You see, I had something of a crush on her. When the waltz is played toward the end of the ballet, I imagined I was dancing with her. She never would have noticed me, of course. It wouldn't have been proper. If she had done, then I suppose I would have fainted in fright which would have caused my parents to die of shame. Still, it was a pleasant fantasy." Malcolm took a sudden intense interest in the PADD on his lap. "Please don't laugh, Trip." His voice was nearly inaudible.

Trip already had one arm about Malcolm's shoulders. He now put his other hand under Malcolm's chin, gently raised his head and turned it toward him. The uncertainty was back in the luminous blue-gray eyes. "Never, darlin'. She might have noticed. You look pretty damn good in uniform." And even better out of it, Trip thought. "Didn't she marry a commoner?"

"Yes, a young lieutenant in the Royal Navy, although I believe his father was a naval aide to the late king, so they probably knew each other as children."

"Not to step on your dreams or anything, darlin', but I'm kinda glad she didn't get the chance to notice, 'cause if she had, I might not have been able to do this." Trip leaned in and kissed Malcolm full on the mouth.

Malcolm smiled the little half smile that drove Trip nuts. "I suppose it's just as well then that I defied my father in his choice of career for me. Not being an officer in the Royal Navy kept me out of the line of fire, so to speak; else I might not have been able to do this." He returned Trip's kiss with passion, an invitation to a very different sort of dance.

At 1830 sharp on Christmas Eve, Malcolm pressed the door chime to Trip's quarters. As usual, because he knew it pleased Trip, he was dressed all in black - a blazer with small gold buttons over a cashmere turtleneck sweater and slacks with razor-sharp creases. When Trip answered the door, it was clear he had decided to dress for the occasion as well. No sweat pants and T-shirt or sweatshirt and not even khakis or jeans and a loud Hawaiian print shirt, but rather navy blue slacks and a light blue silk shirt open at the neck. Malcolm was clearly impressed by the change. "My, but you look quite fetching this evening, Mr. Tucker," he said with a grin.

"Same to ya, but more of it, darlin'," was Trip's heartfelt, if inelegant, reply as he claimed a quick kiss.

Chef's staff had transformed the mess hall into something of a winter wonderland where even an old 1970s (Earth Standard) disco glitter ball didn't seem out of place. There were poinsettias in a variety of colors as centerpieces on the tables. For the centerpiece of the buffet table, Shran had carved a large ice sculpture of a sleigh drawn by three horses with a building in the background that was surmounted by an onion-shaped dome. It was based on a scene from _Doctor Zhivago_ that he said reminded him of an Andorian fairy tale. As always, there was an immense spread of food, including a large cheese tray that was safely out of Porthos' reach. It was the dessert table, though, where Chef really outdid himself at Christmastime. There were cookies of every imaginable kind, including humanoid-shaped cookies made of gingerbread. There was chocolate in abundance, too, both light and dark. The centerpiece of the dessert table, however, was a giant, minutely detailed, gingerbread _Enterprise_. (Now Trip understood why some of the specs had disappeared for a day and were sticky with unidentifiable spots on them when they reappeared.) The aromas emanating from the mess hall were just heavenly!

Chef hadn't forgotten Porthos. There were home-made doggie treats in his dish and a bone to gnaw on. Porthos nosed his dish under the buffet table in the vicinity of the cheese tray. That way, no one could get to his food. On the off chance nobody remembered to slip him a piece of cheese, he could readily claim any they dropped; in fact, he considered any food that made it to the floor to be rightfully his. He needn't have worried on the cheese front, though. His master might not give him any, but Shran gave him a cube of pepper Jack. A bit too hot for Porthos' taste, but it was the thought that counted, and he happily licked the blue fingers of the first officer to show his appreciation. Later, Malcolm surreptitiously slipped him a piece of real cheddar, his all-time favorite. This merited more than a polite licking of fingers. As Malcolm knelt to pet the soft fur of the little beagle, Porthos licked his face. The little dog's tail was wagging wildly and it seemed like the pooch was trying to dance. For his part, Malcolm, who had never been allowed a pet as a child, was grateful that his allergies didn't extend to dog hair. He adored the captain's pet. When the lights went down for the movie, Porthos retreated under the table, stretched and laid down beside his dish for a nap. He was pretty proud of himself. He'd brought the two toughest guys on the ship to heel. They were playthings in his paws.

Hoshi, dressed in a red silk pantsuit with black trim and a pattern of gold chrysanthemums on the jacket, her long, dark hair done up in an elaborate bun, got the movie started. Clearly, she wasn't going to give Trip a chance to sabotage her choice and substitute who knew what. She didn't know that since it was also Malcolm's choice, such mischief was the furthest thing from his mind. In fact, Trip was happy to just sit back and enjoy. He and Malcolm sat down in front now and openly held hands, their relationship no longer a secret and a pairing happily accepted by the crew since both men were respected and well liked. During the film, Trip looked about at the other members of the audience. Shran, dressed in the royal blue service uniform of the Imperial Guard, sat with antennae forward and quivering slightly in intense concentration. Hoshi had a happy (if slightly dopey) look on her face. Travis, dressed in a brightly patterned batik shirt and black jeans, was happy because Hoshi was happy. Jon looked happy, too. Like Malcolm, he'd seen the production as a child and had wanted to see it again. When Trip stole a glance at Malcolm, he was amazed to see the sense of wonder in his eyes. Mal was relaxed and seemed supremely happy. Trip slightly tightened his grip on Malcolm's hand, the gesture being met with a light answering pressure. Truth be told, Trip was enjoying the movie too. He was surprised to find that he recognized a lot of the music, he just hadn't known that it came from this work. As he watched Baryshnikov dance, he imagined the lithe and athletic Malcolm in the role. To an outside observer, Hoshi wouldn't have been the only one with a happy (if slightly dopey) look.

Following the movie, the party really kicked into high gear. In addition to the food, there was music for dancing (and singing). There was a piñata in the shape of a large pink pig that was filled with hard candies and small gifts. It took some persuasion, but Malcolm finally took a crack at breaking it. He didn't succeed, but Shran did, which set off a mad scramble for the goodies and a great deal of trading afterward. There was also, of course, a spiked punch. Trip thought Chef must have a new recipe. It tasted awfully good.

During a break in the music, Travis and Hoshi, who seemed to have been dancing nonstop, came over to join Trip and Malcolm at their table. Travis said he needed a drink. Trip highly recommended the punch. He said it was great, and at this point, he'd certainly had enough to know. When the opening strains of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band performing _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_ came on the sound system, Hoshi turned to Malcolm, offered her hand and said, "Wanna dance, Malcolm?"

Malcolm looked questioningly at both Travis and Trip.

"If that's what Hoshi wants, then it's fine by me, Malcolm," Travis said. "Man, I need to take a breather."

"Save me a slow dance, darlin'," was Trip's somewhat slurred reply.

Malcolm smiled at Hoshi and took her hand. "I'd be delighted, Miss Sato."

Trip watched Malcolm swing dance with Hoshi with a growing sense of admiration. They were an attractive couple, well matched in size, height and ability. When Malcolm turned Hoshi in a back flip such that she landed lightly in time to the fortissimo downbeat of the song, even Travis was impressed enough to remark, "Damn, who says white boys can't dance?"

Trip knew how to dance. His momma had seen to that. The Tuckers were a large extended family, and it seemed like there had always been a party going on somewhere. Momma Tucker said it was necessary for a young gentleman to know how to dance properly, so he had learned. Next to Malcolm, though, he figured he was pretty spastic. Malcolm was confident, assured, smooth, elegant, relaxed, happy and gorgeous.

Trip wasn't sure if he ever got that slow dance with Malcolm. He did remember kissing Malcolm rather passionately under one of the strategically placed sprigs of mistletoe, but then it was hard to forget kissing Malcolm. He vaguely remembered singing a very off-key version of _Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer _on the way to his quarters, but he was pretty much dead to the world by the time Malcolm put him to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Trip and his sister, Lizzie, as well as the rest of the Tucker clan, were gathered at Grandma Tucker's big old house outside Atlanta. It was Christmas Eve. They'd had their traditional Christmas Eve feast, including baked ham and candied yams with pecan pie for dessert, and had just finished decorating the large Christmas tree in one corner of the room. The children were being given one gift to open before being sent to bed. The doorbell rang. Entering the house on a gust of cool night air was Captain Jonathan Archer, whom both Trip and Lizzie looked upon as "Uncle Jon", although, in truth, he was not a blood relation but a friend of the family. He carried two large, ornately wrapped packages, one each for Trip and Lizzie who immediately clamored to be allowed to open them.

Lizzie's gift was a beautiful, fragile, collector's doll that wore a lovely mauve one-piece jumpsuit. She had short, dark hair; dark eyes, delicately pointed ears and a pale green tint to her skin. "Oh, Uncle Jon, she's a Vulcan like the ones you've told us about. Does she have a name?"

"I believe the papers that came with her say her name is T'Pol," Archer said with a smile. It was clear his gift had captivated Lizzie.

Trip's gift was also a large collector's doll, though in deference to Trip being a boy, one should probably say it was an action figure. It was dressed in the uniform of a Royal Navy captain from the late 1700s or early 1800s (Earth Standard) or what would be called "the age of fighting sail." The doll had dark hair, a delicate china face and eyes that were either blue or gray. In the subdued multihued light provided by the decorated Christmas tree, Trip couldn't tell which. The uniform had a sash, decorations for bravery, epaulettes of real gold bullion, a sword and a bicorn hat. "Uncle Jon, he's just like Lucky Jack Aubrey except that he isn't blond. How did you know I wanted this?"

Archer laughed. "Maybe because you told me you'd seen _Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World_ ten times.

"Twelve now, Uncle Jon," Trip corrected him.

Lizzie and Trip both politely thanked Archer for their gifts and were sent off to bed, but Trip couldn't sleep, and he wanted to play with his new toy. Shortly before midnight, he climbed out of bed and snuck downstairs. Much to his dismay, his doll had been placed on the fireplace mantel and was out of his reach. When the clock struck midnight, the room was invaded by unnaturally large crickets. They seemed to be coming from everywhere. The Christmas tree grew to immense size, and all the toys and the leftover gingerbread men came to life. Trip was scared silly. The crickets were headed straight for Lizzie's new doll, T'Pol. The gingerbread men tried to defend her but were defeated and eaten one by one. Suddenly, Trip's doll jumped down from the mantelpiece in what seemed to be an effortless leap and rallied Trip's toy Civil War soldiers in defense of the Vulcan doll. The crickets were led by the peppermint pig that was to have been a candy treat on Christmas Day. Trip couldn't determine if he was just making a noise to try to frighten the soldiers or if he was saying his name was Gral. While the Civil War soldiers took on the army of crickets, Trip's doll engaged the peppermint pig in hand-to-hand combat. Trip couldn't take it anymore. He ran to the playroom, rummaged about in his toy chest until he found his water gun that looked just like a phase pistol, came back to the battle under the Christmas tree and zapped the peppermint pig who started to melt. He did it just in time. It didn't look to him like his doll could have fought on much longer. With the melting of their leader, the remaining crickets vanished.

Before Trip's utterly astonished eyes, his doll transformed into a living, breathing boy of about his own age. The child was slender like Trip, but smaller, fine boned and quite pale. Trip still couldn't tell if his eyes were blue or gray. The child seemed wary and maybe a bit frightened. Considering the battle he'd been in, perhaps he was injured. At this point, Trip's manners, so carefully instilled in him by Momma Tucker, finally kicked in. "Hello," he said quietly. "My name is Charles Tucker, III, but most people just call me Trip. May I help you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, thank you," the child answered softly in a pleasantly accented voice. "I'm Prince Malcolm. I would be ever so pleased if you would call me Mal. I've been under the spell of an evil sorcerer, but you've broken his curse." He offered Trip his hand. "Come with me please, Trip. My people and I wish to thank you for returning me to life and then saving my life."

When Trip took Prince Malcolm's hand, they were enveloped in shimmering light that reminded Trip of the transporter effect on Uncle Jon's starship. This magical transporter, however, had done more than change their location to the front lawn of Grandma Tucker's house. The children were now young men. Instead of his NASCAR pajamas, Trip wore the dress uniform of a Starfleet commander. He was pleased to see that the piping was Engineering red, not Command gold like Uncle Jon's. Prince Malcolm was now dressed all in black: A short satin jacket with a Mandarin collar and a shield bearing resting lions and those French flower things (fleur-de-lis) in gold thread on the left side, black tights and black dancing shoes. Trip didn't see anything untoward in his companion's change of clothing.

Prince Malcolm gestured to an awaiting open carriage drawn by two magnificent Arabian horses. Trip thought it was like something out of the Sherlock Holmes stories Momma Tucker used to read to him. "Shall we?" Prince Malcolm asked.

Trip suddenly remembered Momma Tucker's warning about not going off with strangers. But that was when he was a kid, he reasoned. He was a man now. He could handle himself. Besides, he wanted to explore new worlds, to go where no humans had gone before, just like Uncle Jon. He figured that was going to require meeting a lot of strangers, strangers who might turn out to be good friends. Try as he might, he just couldn't bring himself to think of Prince Malcolm as a stranger. Part of him felt as if he'd known him for years. The other part found him intriguing and wanted to know him even better. In any case, he felt safe with the man, and allowed him to hand him into the carriage.

The carriage rose into the sky and crossed the face of an enormous full moon. Trip smiled at the thought that back on Earth they must look like the scene from that movie where a human boy helps a small, gentle, endearing alien make his way home, but he didn't really grasp the deeper parallels.

The shimmering lights of the transporter effect enveloped them again, and the carriage transformed into a shuttlepod, just like one on Uncle Jon's ship. Trip watched Prince Malcolm's long, slender fingers expertly manipulate the shuttlepod's controls as he piloted the ship. Prince Malcolm turned to him with a shy smile. "Do you fancy a go at it?" He gestured toward the controls.

"Sure do!" Trip said with a broad grin. He found he knew exactly what to do without being told. He was disappointed when Prince Malcolm announced that they had arrived at his home world. It seemed to have taken no time at all.

It appeared that Prince Malcolm's world was an ice planet. Trip's Uncle Jon had told him about such a world. If he remembered right, it was called Andoria. But Prince Malcolm didn't look Andorian. Again, if Trip remembered right, Andorians had blue skin, white hair and antennae, kind of like the Smurf doll Lizzie had seen in the antique shop and just had to have.

The shuttlepod morphed into a troika sleigh painted in bright colors. It was drawn by large, heavy horses that reminded Trip of the Clydesdales that drew the beer wagon at the amusement park. There were bells on the harnesses that jingled merrily as the horses moved. The coachman was one of the tallest men Trip had ever seen. He wore a red tunic, black pants and an immense black fur hat.

Trip had expected it to be cold - and he hated cold - but was surprised to find that it was actually pleasingly warm, and the air was full of music. Despite the fact that it was snowing, they moved along a road that was clearly visible, a road paved with bright yellow bricks. In the distance one could just make out what Trip assumed was Prince Malcolm's home, a castle of a sparkling deep green color that looked as if it had been carved from an emerald the size of Rhode Island. Some of this seemed vaguely familiar to Trip, as if he'd been here before, although he knew that couldn't be true. The phrase "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore" popped into his head for no apparent reason. He turned and smiled at Prince Malcolm. The smile broadened as he watched him pet a small dog who was asleep on his lap.

As they neared the gates to the castle, a peasant family ran to the road from their quaint stone cottage to greet their Prince. Trip was pretty sure that they **were** Andorian. The father had cerulean blue skin and was dressed in dark leather. He carried a tool for cutting ice, but Trip thought that under certain circumstances it would make a rather nasty weapon. The mother had milky white skin and long, white hair that was elaborately braided. She wore a long gown with full skirts of white and silver. It was obvious that she could neither see nor speak, and yet Trip was sure he heard her gentle voice in his mind welcoming both him and Prince Malcolm. Their child had teal skin and wore a gown like her mother's save that it was black and silver. The child danced for Prince Malcolm and Trip. She moved through space as lightly and as effortlessly as the large snowflakes that continued to drift down from the sky. When she had finished her performance, she gravely curtsied to her audience, but her little antennae seemed to continue to dance. Prince Malcolm called her to the sleigh. "This is for your parents." He gave her a great golden guinea. "But this, Talla, is for you." He carefully placed an amethyst pendant on a fine gold chain about her neck. She politely curtsied her thanks and then ran laughing back to her parents. Her laugh sounded like the bright, bell-like tones of a celesta.

A flurry of trumpets announced the arrival of Prince Malcolm and Trip in the throne room of the castle. To Trip, the thrones looked like the captain's chair on Uncle Jon's ship. Prince Malcolm had barely finished introducing Trip to his court when a little gnome-like man with a cheery smile came out from behind a purple curtain, walked right up to the thrones and scanned both Prince Malcolm and Trip with a small hand-held device.

"Phlox, I'm fine. Trip is fine. Put that away!" Prince Malcolm was definitely annoyed.

"You've been away from us on your mission for some time, Your Highness, and Master Trip is unknown to us. One can never be too careful," the little man said, the smile never leaving his face.

"Trip, may I present Dr. Phlox? Believe it or not, he is a great wizard. He will see you safely home in his airship when the clock strikes thirteen." Trip had seen the gaily striped hot air balloon in the castle's courtyard on the way in. That should be an interesting flight, he thought.

Prince Malcolm clapped his hands and the evening's entertainment began. Trip was to be presented with three gifts and with each gift performers would dance. The first gift was a chest full of coffee. Robusta, Arabica, Kona, dark roast, house blend, flavored - there had to be enough there to keep him wired for sound for at least ten years. The music had an Arabian flavor. The dancer was tall, with a muscular build and dark, coffee-colored skin. He wore the white robes and headdress of a _sharif, _rather like Peter O'Toole in _Lawrence of Arabia_, and as he danced, he twirled a wicked-looking scimitar.

The second gift was a gold chest full of chocolate. Dark, light, sweet, bitter, with nuts and without, patties, bars, truffles, cordials, kisses and eggs (and it wasn't even Easter). Trip had a major sweet tooth. He'd also been taught to share. This was going to be hard - or not. The thought came to him - cordials and kisses - he probably wouldn't mind sharing those with Prince Malcolm. The music had a Spanish flavor. The dark-skinned dancer had changed costume. Now he was dressed as a matador and carried a red cape. He was joined by an olive-skinned woman with long, black hair who wore a barely there red sequined dress and 3-inch heels. They danced a romantic paso doble. Now that he'd seen him again, the dark-skinned man seemed vaguely familiar to Trip, but he couldn't image how that could be so.

The third gift was a chest full of tea. Black, orange pekoe, green, white, herbal, flavored, leaves and bags. Trip liked iced tea on a hot summer's day, but he wasn't really a fan of it otherwise; however, someone he knew was, maybe more than one, he just couldn't remember who. The music had a Chinese flavor. The olive-skinned dancer had changed costume. Now she was dressed as a geisha in a red silk gown covered with a pattern of golden chrysanthemums. Her long hair was done up with a headdress that reminded Trip of a large ball of yarn with knitting needles sticking out. The dance was slow, elegant and stylized. It reminded him of scenes from the film _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_ or maybe it was just Bruce Lee films played at quarter speed. He thought he remembered a friend who practiced martial arts and made the same elegant, graceful moves, but his name simply wouldn't come to his mind. Now that he'd seen her again, the olive-skinned, dark-haired woman seemed vaguely familiar to him as well, but he couldn't image how that could be so. It was all getting so confusing.

Prince Malcolm bade his court good night then turned and offered his hand to Trip. "Please come with me, Trip. I have one more thing to show you." As they strolled through the castle, Trip noted the large number of weapons displayed on the walls and in cases: A shirt of the finest silver chain mail, a suit of armor, pikes, lances, maces and shields; a longbow and arrows, swords and sabers, muskets and rifles, handguns and knives, phase pistols and rifles. What a strange dichotomy, Trip thought. The soft-spoken, polite, almost frail-appearing Prince Malcolm was also a warrior lord in the tradition of his family.

The armory, however, was not the "one more thing" that Prince Malcolm had to show him; rather, it was a courtyard filled with a profusion of flowers of all types and colors: Roses without thorns, elegant orchids, bright yellow daffodils, orange tiger lilies, tulips, zinnias, daisies, pansies, poppies, peonies and poinsettias. The trellises were made of candy canes. Trip heard a series of harp arpeggios, the introduction to a waltz. Prince Malcolm offered him his hand. "Trip, may I have the honor of this dance?"

"The honor's all mine, Mal," Trip said as he took his hand and stepped into the embrace. Prince Malcolm was an accomplished dancer, confident, assured, smooth and elegant. Trip happily followed his lead and admired the strong, supple body. They effortlessly swirled about the magic garden. When Trip could manage to look at anything other than Prince Malcolm's mesmerizing blue-gray eyes, he noticed that the flowers and candy canes had joined them in the dance. He was superbly happy. The tempo seemed to be picking up and they twirled faster and faster, and then he heard the chimes of the great clock. In spite of himself, he started to count. Ten. Please stop! Eleven. I don't want this to be over! Twelve. I love you, Mal! Thirteen . . .

Trip awoke in his quarters on _Enterprise_. He squinted at the clock. It read 0900. The dim light from the readout seemed as bright as an energy pulse from a phase cannon, and his head felt like it had been hit by one. He groaned and turned toward the other side of his bunk in search of Malcolm's warm, comforting presence, but that side of the bunk was cold. Malcolm wasn't there. "Damn!" he whispered, although it sounded to him as if he had shouted.

He heard the soft "whoosh" of the door to his quarters opening and closing. He felt the mattress of his bunk give as someone sat down beside him. "Can I die yet?" he asked the unseen visitor.

He heard Malcolm's pleasing voice softly say, "I'm sorry I woke you, love. Perhaps this will make you feel better." He felt the metal of a hypospray, one thoughtfully warmed by Malcolm's hand, pressed against his neck and heard its faint hiss. Malcolm's long, slender fingers were gently massaging his temple. His lips left a feather-light kiss on his forehead. Momma Tucker used to do that when he was a kid - kiss the "boo-boos" and make them better. Whether one was merely severely hung over or really severely injured, it was a comfort to have Mal around.

After a few minutes, he did feel better. He turned on his back, ventured once again to open his eyes and looked up directly into Malcolm's loving blue-gray eyes and gentle smile. "I got just two questions, Mal."

"Only two?" Malcolm asked in amusement.

"Yeah. First, what the hell did Chef put in the punch?"

"I have it on very good authority that Andorians drink things other than ale. Apparently, the recipe for the punch is a holiday favorite in Shran's home."

"Great!" Trip grinned. "He had **way** more than I did. He's probably still huggin' the porcelain god. I'd love to have a picture of that! It could come in real handy any time he gets uppity."

"I don't think so, Trip. Commander Shran has the con, is on the bridge as we speak and seems none the worse for wear. The result of his higher metabolism, or so he says. He's quite self-satisfied, actually. He just knew humans couldn't hold their liquor, and he's the one with pictures to prove it. I would suggest that neither one of us is in a position to cross him. He's particularly proud of the snap he has of our intimate moment under the mistletoe." Trip's response to this information was, fortunately, muffled in his pillow.

"What's your second question, love?"

Trip was thinking carefully. Malcolm could almost see the gears turning in his mind. "The party was Christmas Eve, so unless I was 'indisposed' for over 24 hours, this must be Christmas." He saw Malcolm nod. "So where's my present, Mal?" he asked with the broadest of grins.

"Ah, I was wondering when you would get to that. I'll retrieve it. I won't be but a moment."

Trip clasped Malcolm's hand before he could rise from the bunk. "No, darlin', I want to start with this one. It's in such a pretty package." Malcolm's soft silver-gray shirt, the one that brought out the blue in his eyes, was already open at his throat. Trip began to undo the remaining buttons. "I'm gonna be real careful and take my time openin' it." He kissed Malcolm with a long, languorous kiss. "I don't get what Hoshi saw in that Russian. I much prefer my Englishman. Ya know, Mal, you're such a prince!"

Malcolm though the most polite response to Trip's compliment would be to return his kiss with passion. He knew his meager store of happy Christmas memories was about to be augmented. He also knew, perhaps better than most, that love freely given and freely returned was truly the greatest gift of all.


End file.
